One year married to my darling, directionally-challenged Marcus Quisling! Apparently, his family's anniversary tradition involves games – less romance, more "reliving childhood," apparently.
"You'll be fine! It's like our awkward family reunions, but underground!" he chirped, leading me to their enormous, maze-like mansion (my third visit, still lost). The dining room was a wine-fueled family gathering. Mr. Quisling Sr. beamed, explaining the "relive childhood" tradition for anniversary couples.
"Wonderful!" I lied, smiling tightly.
"Game time!" he declared, whisking us to a room with a suspicious hole. "Down you go! Reach the other side without being caught. Lose, and... maybe we'll make you an angel!" he joked, handing us a single, flickering torch.
We were lowered into the musty abyss. Surprise! No Marcus. Classic. "Probably already lost," I muttered, plunging into the spider-webby darkness. Dusty crates loomed. Deeper in, the temperature plummeted, just before my foot landed on icy stone. The torchlight revealed a slippery, wet cave –not ideal for anniversary attire. Before I could question the subterranean surprise in my in-laws' mansion, my clumsy feet betrayed me. Down I went, shoes and torch doing their own acrobatics. I face-planted into a hole, leaving a deep gash on my forehead.
‘"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!" I shrieked, panic seizing me. "MARCUS! YOU USELESS TWIT, GET ME OUT!"
Silence. Just the bone-chilling cold and the squelch of mud on my ruined dress. Another treacherous path yawned ahead. Utterly lost and soaked, I was a mess. What fresh hell was this? Then, a faint emitted in the darkness of the cave from the other side. People were holding torches and……. weapons.
"Run, poppet," a voice hissed, laced with something truly sinister.
"AHHHH! HELP ME! YOU PSYCHOS!" I bolted, a desperate, slipping sprint through the dark. Mad shouts and the whoosh of thrown torches and blades echoed behind me. Ducking and weaving like a maniac, I finally tumbled into dirt, the screams and flying projectiles still hot on my heels.
They didn't just stumble; they vanished, swallowed by the earth in a sickening, sucking thump.
My blood ran cold. This wasn't "reliving childhood" anymore; this was a survival game, and I hated it. I limped towards the cave entrance, scanning the surroundings. Three tunnels yawned before me. After a moment, I chose the left one.
I was a wreck. My dress, torn. Dirt caked head to toe. Bruises and cuts bloomed across my skin, a deep gash throbbing on my forehead.
'Come on, Artemis,' I told myself. 'You can do this!'
Divorce Marcus. Jail the whole damn family. The thought flickered, cold and hard.
But as I reached the tunnel's end, I almost choked on my scream.
I saw them. Not angels, but grotesque parodies: skeletons dangling, ribs peeled outwards like obscene, fleshy wings. His words. "Maybe we'll turn you into an angel." The sickening truth slammed into me. This wasn't some twisted game. This was a murder ritual. They weren't rich; they were butchers in designer clothes. Panic clawed at my throat, but a raw, furious defiance ignited within me. I would not become one of their grotesque trophies. Not today. Not ever. Whatever hell they unleashed, I was coming out of it alive.
I grabbed a torch and a sword and ventured further into the “cave.”
Finally, I came to a place similar to the beginning of the trail. Only difference was that it had a huge gap in between.
‘I am surprised. Most of them couldn’t make it out of the first one’ Mr. Quisling’s voice sweet voice came.
I turned around, the entire family was standing, looking at me with murderous eyes. Even Marcus, the one who I loved.
‘Marcus Junius Brutus is my name’ he said with an evil smirk.
I laughed. ‘Fitting name for a betrayer. And guess what? My name is Artemis Stone. A hunter’
I threw the sword and it took him clean through. Their screams ripped through the cave. I laughed, vaulting the pit with a surge of adrenaline. Above, a jagged wall of stone promised a brutal climb to freedom. One that I would claim, alone.
I'd clawed my way out of hell itself. Lived up to my name. Before leaving that cursed place, I ripped off my wedding ring and flung it into the screaming darkness below before slamming the cave doors shut and ran.
I raced to the police. They scoffed, disbelieving, until I dragged them, furious and desperate, to the mansion.
Their faces... The horror etched there. They found twenty women. Sacrificed in a ritualistic perversion, their ribs twisted and upturned into grotesque, wing-like structures. Some were barely twenty-two. I was the only one to walk out of that nightmare. They were sentenced to death. Rightly.
Now, I'm finding my way back. Therapy helps. And I have peace, of a sort. My dog, Julius, is a constant comfort.
I entered that marriage an angel. I left a devil, forged in fire.
Monsoon
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